


only thing I'll ever do

by liadan14



Series: lover with a radar phone [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Anal Sex, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Topping from the Bottom, Unprotected Sex, these two characters continuing to not be good at communication, undernegotiated sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22161304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liadan14/pseuds/liadan14
Summary: “Stay there,” Billy says tersely. “Stay there and shut up.”Steve stays there and shuts up.Billy’s skin is cold and clammy against Steve’s when he settles over Steve’s hips, one knee either side of him. His hair drips onto Steve’s collarbone and Steve tries not to flinch.When they kiss this time, it’s without preamble, without Steve having spent long moments of his life agonizing over whether he’s going to get socked in the jaw for it.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: lover with a radar phone [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571581
Comments: 21
Kudos: 412





	only thing I'll ever do

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: two very dumb boys having unprotected sex at maybe the height of the AIDS crisis, not at all negotiated elements of kink, an unfortunate amount of referenced child abuse. There's a pretty graphic discussion between Hopper and Steve about child abuse and what levels of it are "acceptable", and I'd like to say that by today's standards, none of them are acceptable. What Hopper and Steve talk about and what Steve thinks during that conversation do not represent my opinion, but rather what I imagined these two characters in 1980s rural Indiana might think and what circumstances might be "normal" to them.

The next time Billy comes to Steve’s house, it’s through the window at two AM.

Steve’s a little pissed off about this, to be honest. Through the window is, like, his move. It’s so his move he was almost disappointed Nancy fell for it. Also, like, he could have been sleeping. He wasn’t, he’s been having kind of a hard time of that, actually, but Billy doesn’t know that.

Billy looks pretty rough, though. He’s got a nasty cut over his eye, scabby red contrasting the swelling blue-green skin around it.

“Shit,” Steve says, looking up from his fifth failed attempt to care about his college applications. “D’you need some ice? I can get you some ice. Or, like, frozen peas.”

“Don’t want ice,” Billy says. “Fucking freezing.”

He isn’t wearing a shirt under his leather jacket. His sweatpants are soaked around the cuffs. There’s been sleet pounding against the windowpanes for the last hour, and Billy’s curls are matted to his neck with frozen water.

“Jesus,” Steve says, “Billy, what the fuck happened?”

“Shut up,” Billy says. He sounds angry. Steve’s hand clenches, just a little, on the pencil he’s still holding uselessly. He remembers Billy, blazing with anger, laying into Lucas, and then into Steve, and then Steve remembers a whole lot of darkness and demodogs and having to drive himself to the hospital alone hours after the fact to get the cut in his head sewn up. The nurse found shards in his hair from Joyce Byer’s second-least-chipped-plate.

But Billy’s been less of a dick recently, and he’s been working with Steve in basketball practice, not against him, and also they've fucked twice already, so maybe Steve’s not just an idiot, because he doesn’t get up from where he’s leaning against his headboard, makes no move to protect himself from Billy’s anger.

Billy seems to sink in on himself, just a little bit, and then he’s moving again, kicking off his sodden shoes and sweatpants, flinging his jacket off his shoulders till he’s standing there naked.

Steve makes to get up, turn off the lights, stop Billy from doing whatever it is he’s doing and take care of his black eye and the – jesus – boot-shaped bruise on his ribs.

“Stay there,” Billy says tersely. “Stay there and shut up.”

Steve stays there and shuts up.

Billy’s skin is cold and clammy against Steve’s when he settles over Steve’s hips, one knee either side of him. His hair drips onto Steve’s collarbone and Steve tries not to flinch. 

When they kiss this time, it’s without preamble, without Steve having spent long moments of his life agonizing over whether he’s going to get socked in the jaw for it. 

Billy tastes like blood.

It’s not like Steve hasn’t tried to figure things out, in the week since they stumbled out of the shower, dopey on orgasms and possibility. He definitely, definitely has. He’s just not very good at it. He asked Max, under the guise of getting pinball pointers from her, if things with Billy had been better.

She had shrugged, said, “He still _sucks_.”

“Yeah, but he hasn’t been, like, threatening you?”

She shook her head, focused on the pinball machine.

Steve had considered phrasing for a while, then said, “And, um, otherwise? Things at home are—”

“Oh my god, Steve, you’re not _actually_ my babysitter.”

“Hey,” Steve had said mildly. “Dustin’s mom pays me to be here. Sometimes.”

Max had scoffed, and then she had made him take over the machine, and he hadn’t dared ask any more questions.

He’d tried Hopper, too, both of them waiting on the kids outside the arcade.

“So, um, hypothetically,” he’d asked, “if someone parents did something bad, like, um, Jane’s dad, what would you do?” He’d thought he was being so clever, too, using Eleven to distract Hopper from Billy and Max, but Hopper had squinted at him suspiciously.

“Well, I’m not adopting any more of these kids,” Hopper had said, sounding a lot like the word _kids_ meant _enormous pains in my ass_.

Steve laughed nervously. “Yeah, no, definitely not that, but I mean, like, that happens, that people’s parents are…bad.”

Hopper snorted. “There’s a lot of bad parents out there, and most of them have nothing to do with my job.”

Steve was still considering how to ask again to make Hopper give a real answer when Hopper continued. “Sometimes it is my job, but it’s not exactly black and white. You used to get in trouble with Tommy Hagan all the time, do you think I should arrest his dad?”

“ _What?_ ”

“The man used to beat his kid’s ass in the backyard. We got calls.”

“Well, yeah, but,” Steve trailed off, unsure. He’d been around for a few of those beatings, and he’d always kind of thought they’d been deserved, like when he and Tommy had egged the Byers’ house, or when Tommy had covered the toilet in saran wrap when his sister had the flu. It wasn’t like Tommy was injured or anything, the only thing his dad really hurt was his dignity. 

“Yeah, but,” Hopper said. “How do I decide that’s okay and then go after someone else’s dad who does the same thing with a belt? And then, how do I make a judge who was born in the nineteen fucking twenties see the difference in that and some asshole giving his kid a black eye?”

“Jeez,” Steve sighed. No luck there then.

“Yeah,” Hopper agreed. “Plus, I’m serious. I’m not adopting any more kids, and the foster system’s not exactly full of saints.”

Steve had remembered, then, that Carol’s parents took in foster kids sometimes. Carol’s parents, who both worked night jobs and yelled at all the kids for waking them up during the day. Carol’s parents, whose most effective contribution to Carol’s education was teaching her to mix a tequila sunrise.

So, Steve has tried to figure things out, not because he has some stupid savior complex like Dustin keeps saying, but because Billy has a black eye and a boot print on his ribs and no one seems to _care_.

Billy seems to care the least of all, pressing Steve down into his comforter, getting his freezing hands up under Steve’s polo shirt and kissing Steve for all he’s worth. Steve’s not really a good guy, not all the way through, he must not be, because he just sort of goes with it. He gets his hands settled on Billy’s hips, grabs at his ass, kisses back as hard as he can.

Without detaching from Steve’s mouth, Billy grabs behind himself, gets both of Steve’s hands by the wrist. He pushes them up over Steve’s head, hard.

“Keep them there,” Billy says hoarsely.

“Or what?” Steve asks.

“You don’t wanna find out.”

Steve’s about seventy percent sure Billy’s bullshitting, but that thirty percent insecurity, that sends a spark of interest down his spine, wakes up a hungry little feeling at the pit of his belly, reminds him he’s alive just enough to get him going, get him sinking his hands into Billy’s wet hair, pulling him down into another kiss.

Billy’s spine melts a little, his cool chest and hardened nipples pressing Steve deeper into the bed as he kisses Steve back.

He pulls away with a growl, pushes Steve’s wrists back into the pillow.

“Keep. Them. There.”

“Make me.”

Billy makes him. He keeps Steve’s wrists tight in his grip, sits up to grind his bare ass against Steve’s dick, still in his boxers and sweatpants. Steve shudders out a groan, throws his head back. He’s got Billy’s mouth against his neck, hot where the rest of him is still chilled, and Steve’s eyes slide shut of their own accord. He’s anchored tight to the bed by Billy’s hand, Billy’s mouth, Billy’s hips, the soft scent of whatever’s left of Billy’s deodorant. He misses whatever Billy’s done with his other hand until it’s too late, until Billy’s letting his wrists go to wrench down Steve’s sweatpants, to get his dick slicked up and dripping. It happens so fast, Steve’s still processing when Billy sinks down on his dick, fist gripped tight to the base, candy-pink mouth open.

Steve makes a noise he didn’t know he was capable of.

“Yeah,” Billy says. “That’s it, baby, let me just take it.”

Steve groans.

Billy falls forward, propping himself up on his wrists. He shifts his hips slightly and a sound stutters its way out of his throat. His hips circle and Steve’s eyes slam shut again. “Can I—” he asks (begs, really).

“No,” Billy gasps out.

He rides Steve like no girl ever would, dirty and hard, grinding his hips in filthy little circles that do nothing to get Steve off and just keep his dick bumping up against that spot inside Billy that has him grunting out little noises. It’s so hot it should be criminal.

“That good for you?” He asks. “You like that? Using me to get yourself off?”

“Fuck yeah,” Billy says. “You know I do.”

“Looks so good,” Steve tells him, “You look so gorgeous like this, just taking what you need, c’mon, lemme give it to you.”

Billy’s hips stutter. Steve bends his knees, tilts Billy just a bit forwards till an animal noise rips out from his throat. He pushes himself up from where his arms bracket Steve’s, leans back against Steve’s legs, and just moans for it.

“Fucking Christ, Billy, you should be illegal,” Steve tells him, “you’re so tight, you’re _perfect_.”

“Yeah, okay, give it to me,” Billy says, and Steve wastes no time following that order, planting his feet flat on the bed to push his hips up further and harder into Billy. Billy’s like a wild thing for him, making so much noise, meeting Steve’s hips thrust for thrust until the bedframe is inching across the floor.

“C’mon, touch yourself,” Steve says, pretty sure at this point he couldn’t move his hand from above his head if he wanted to, no matter that no one’s holding them down anymore. “Come for me. Come all over me.” It’s not like he means to say this shit, it’s just something Billy brings out in him, like the insatiable urge to make Billy feel good and come hard.

It’s not like Billy’s complaining, though. He shoots hard all over Steve’s stomach and shirt not much later, and the way he clenches around Steve is enough to have Steve following him along, aware distantly that they never bothered with a condom and he’s just shot Billy full of his come. If anything, it makes him come harder.

Billy collapses next to him soon after, and it’s only when Steve finally manages to move his arms to wrap them around Billy that he sees the bruises around his wrists.

“Shit,” Billy says, scrambling upright, basically jumping out of bed. “Shit, Steve, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll—”

He’s grabbing for his jacket, for his discarded, wet, freezing clothes. “Hey,” Steve says, perturbed and perpetually really bad at words. “Chill, dude.”

Billy’s wild-eyed and breathing too fast. “I hurt you, I gotta go, I gotta—”

“Billy, I liked it,” Steve says. He doesn’t know how to say that he’s felt half-dead inside for such a long time, since Nancy, since before Nancy, since the Demogorgon, and it’s only gotten worse and worse, closed him off and clammed him up, with every new piece of shit to hit this stupid town, and Billy’s the only thing that’s made him feel like there’s something worth waking up for in months. That the way Billy touches him and looks at him and maybe, a little bit, _needs him_ might be what will save Steve from his own sad, pathetic future.

“You sure?” Billy asks.

“I fucking loved it, Billy, I just came my brains out. C’mon, come here,” Steve says.

Billy comes back to bed. Billy falls asleep in minutes, Steve stroking his hair. He’s so out of it, he doesn’t notice Steve slipping out of the bed less than half an hour later, or hear the washing machine start up when he puts in Billy’s wet things.

He stirs in the dark, later, when Steve comes back up, with antiseptic and a band-aid and some funky cream from the back of his mom’s cabinets that’s supposed to help against bruising.

“Steve,” Billy says, when he sees what Steve’s holding. He sounds raw and exhausted.

“Let me,” Steve says. “Please. Let me do this. I can’t—” _do anything else,_ he wants to say, _keep you safe_ , _fix this_ , but all of those are wrong and about Steve and not about Billy, so he just says, “please, let me help you.”

Billy doesn’t answer, but he lets his shoulders relax, lets Steve rinse off the cut over his eye and rub cream into his bruises and he doesn’t complain.

He’s still there in the morning, when Steve wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this series is going to be a thing. Come prompt me on [tumblr](https://bewires.tumblr.com/) if you have suggestions for more bits. otherwise, my next plan is something about Steve's mom and health insurance (it makes sense, I promise). Also yes the title is a Harry Styles reference. Also ask if you want the playlist for this loosely connected trainwreck of fics because it definitely exists


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